


My Prime

by Delirious21



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Oral Sex, Overloads (Transformers), Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Valve Play (Transformers), dom!ratchet, sub!Optimus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-17 07:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: All Ratchet knows is that Optimus needs help. What kind of help, he has yet to find out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just couldn't stop thinking about a big, stoic 'Bot on his knees, pressing his faceplates into the ground, taking their smaller partner's spike and loving it. Kinda evolved from there, but still ^-^*

Ratchet was hunched over the broken piece of a groundbridge mechanism when he received the call from Optimus Prime. He answered, although it was getting close to 3 in the morning, and he was enjoying his peace and quiet. 

“Ratchet,” Optimus husked. “It appears I require,” he cleared his throat, “medical attention.”

He was already up, gathering his emergency equipment as he barked, “Where are you?” Ratchet was certain he’d seen Prime go to his room after Jack, Miko, and Rafael were taken home, but now he cursed the mech’s quiet footsteps. He readied the groundbridge. “Optimus, send me your coordinates.”

No response. 

“Optimus?”

Static on the other end. “Room. Ra —zrrk— help.”

Ratchet didn’t bother shutting down the groundbridge before bolting to Optimus’ suite. He knocked on the door, shouldering through the second it was unlocked. He froze, taken aback by the inescapable scent of lubricant and pheromones. Optimus was hunched over on the edge of his berth, fans cycling in overdrive, engine rattling. He could barely lift his helm, but the brown mess he was sitting in was enough indication for Ratchet. Trying to mask the effects of Optimus’ scent, Ratchet set his bags down and closed the door. 

“How long has this been going on?” he asked, digging through his bag for a tube and the proper solvent.

Optimus’s vents hitched, but Ratchet didn’t pay it any attention. A mech in heat could act completely different from usual, and shame was just as common. 

“This afternoon,” Optimus choked out. “It started and. . .”

Ratchet found what he was looking for and stood up, trying to ignore his growing spike, or the fact that Optimus’ valve was leaking all over his berth and that he was barely covering his blue and red spike with his servos. 

“Well, your heat is one thing, but first we need to take care of that.” He nodded towards the brown fluids. “Your lubricant, the natural transfluid your body produces, should not be that dark.” Snatching a clean towel from the nightstand, Ratchet spread it out on the floor, the only spot clean enough and large enough for Optimus and him to work. He patted it, but Optimus didn’t budge. 

Ratchet crossed his arms. “Optimus, I need you to lie down on your back so that I can administer the antibiotic solvent.” Still nothing. “When your transfluid is dirty, it means that viruses are harming your reproductive system. Do you want me to take care of that, or not?”

Finally, Optimus moved to the floor. He sat, legs closed, on the towel, staring at his servos as they twisted in his lap. Ratchet sighed.

“Lie down, Optimus.” 

“Where does the solvent go?” he asked, regaining the slightest bit of Prime composure. 

Ratchet lifted the thin, pliable tube in his hand. “Into your gestation tank. It won’t hurt, especially since you’re on your heat. You won’t feel a thing.” He rubbed Optimus’ silver thigh, not realizing how awkward that was until Optimus was on his back and spreading his legs. 

To clear the silence, Ratchet grumbled about Optimus’ mortification of medical visits. He knew it started with Orion Pax, and he’d been getting better with it, but he hated seeing Optimus like this, a trembling mess. It was almost as if he’d reverted to Orion. 

Ratchet tried to not stare at Optimus’ weeping valve and twitching spike as he carefully slid the tube inside of him, but it was oh so hard. It was his first time seeing Optimus’ array, and it was more gorgeous than he ever could have imagined. White biolights, silver ridges on his cumbersome spike, and a throbbing red exterior node. Optimus moaned as the tube slipped further into his valve, and Ratchet’s panels fought his conscious command to remain sealed. 

The tube hit a wall, really just the clenching opening of Optimus’ gestation tank, and Ratchet smoothed a servo over his pelvis, thumb just shy of brushing against his spike. 

“It is alright, Optimus,” he soothed. “Now, I need to push the tube further, and it might hurt. If you relax, you will be fine.”

Optimus shifted his hips. “Please, Ratchet,” he groaned. 

Ratchet wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this. His Prime moaning from such a small intrusion; imagining the sounds he’d make for a spike was mesmerizing. Ratchet cleared his throat, hoping Optimus didn’t notice that his fans had kicked on, and put just enough force behind the tube to guide it into his gestation chamber. 

Optimus’ hips jerked and he let out a sharp cry of ecstasy. It took all Ratchet had not to tease him with the tube until he overloaded. Instead, he loaded the antibiotic solvent into the tube and squeezed it into him. Optimus all but whined, the sound low and scratchy, when the tube was removed.

Ratchet struggled to stand, his joints aching. “Let that settle for an hour or so, and see me in the morning for a check up. For now, rest.” he retrieved a heat suppressor patch from his kit and applied it to Optimus’ still quaking shoulder.

Not waiting for verbal agreement, Ratchet hurried out of the room and to his own. He dropped his tools by the door after he locked it, and sank into his berth. His panels opened of their own volition, and it felt nice to let his spike and valve breathe. It had been a while since he was that worked up, but like usual, it was because of that damned Prime. 

Propping his hips up with a stiff pillow, Ratchet palmed his spike, his other servo venturing towards his valve. His processor wandered to Optimus, writhing on the ground, moaning and hissing, begging for more, needing so much more. It wasn’t long before Ratchet was panting and groaning, struggling for an overload with four digits in his valve and a fist pumping his spike. He overloaded once, but his body demanded more.

Edging closer and closer to a second overload, Ratchet was a bit less prepared than usual for someone to come into his room. Let alone when he was two knuckles deep in himself, optics shuttered, imagining a certain red and blue mech between his legs. And so, when a warm servo ghosted over his knee, he froze. Caught red —pink— handed. Ratchet stared up at Optimus, whose generous, warm blue optics never ceased to comfort. 

“I apologize for the intrusion,” Optimus said, a slight quake still evident in his voice. “I knocked, but there was no answer.”

Ratchet’s joints hissed as he sat up, removing his digits from his fluttering valve. He could feel the heat rushing to his faceplates, but Optimus didn’t seem to notice. Or, he did and just ignored it. Either way, Ratchet was grateful. 

“Is— Do you need something, Optimus?”

Optimus smiled, so soft and sweet. He slid his servo from the top of Ratchet’s knee to the middle of his thigh. They were warm and gentle, not demanding in any way, just asking quietly. 

In a similar fashion, Optimus said, “Will you let me help you, old friend?”

Ratchet’s fans jumped a notch. “Yes.”

After how many eons of pining after Orion Pax, and then Optimus Prime, and there they were; panels open, dripping lubricants, ozone practically clouding their vision, as Optimus dropped to his knees before Ratchet. He effortlessly pulled his medic to the edge of the berth, hooking his legs over his shoulders. 

Ratchet let out a low churr, Optimus’ servos spread over his thighs as he licked up the mess there. He laid back, charge growing as Optimus’ glossa swept its way closer and closer to his exterior node, digits testing the puffy folds of his valve. When two thick silver digits found their way inside, testing the give of the eager capillaries, Ratchet vented a long huff, wiggling his hips for more. 

“Primus,” he muttered. His spike twitched, aching for attention, but he ignored it for now. 

Optimus chuckled between his legs, licking a line around his digits and through Ratchet’s folds. And then that sweet mouth was wrapped around his spike, working it slowly, the suction and that glorious glossa the perfect combination. Ratchet’s hips bucked instinctively, but Optimus held him down, which only revved him up more. To be in berth with a mech that could just as easily use you as a toy as a partner was always thrilling. 

After a third digit entered Ratchet, reaching back and curling, scraping against sensitive node clusters and drawing moans from him, Optimus picked up his pace. Still lavishing Ratchet’s fat spike, he thrust his digits with a new vigor. 

Ratchet hid his faceplates in his arm as he panted. “Ah— Optimus!” He writhed beneath his Prime, cooling fans struggling to keep his core temperature down, as the mix of sensations became too much, too quick. His overload hit with a blinding flash, hips bucking his spike further into Optimus’s waiting intake, valve spasming around his digits. 

When his processor recovered, Ratchet realized Optimus was kissing him, glossa lapping at the inside of his intake, servos roaming his chassis and abdomen. 

Nuzzling his face into Ratchet’s neck, Optimus rumbled, “You sound so gorgeous when you overload.” He palmed Ratchet’s spike back to life. “I want to hear you more.”

Ratchet hummed. “What’s gotten into—” And then he realized that Optimus’ shoulder was bare where the suppressor should have been. “Damnit, Optimus,” he grumbled. Although he wasn’t too annoyed about it. 

Optimus revved his engine, kissing a sloppy line down Ratchet’s jaw. “I want you to be the first, and only, mech to have me like this,” he purred. “If you will have me.”

Ratchet kissed the crest of Optimus’ helm, content. “Of course I’ll have you: in  _ and  _ out of heat. You’re  _ my  _ Prime, Optimus.”

The larger mech crooned. “Make me yours,” he rumbled, slipping to the floor on his servos and knees, arching his back to present his glistening, fluttering valve. “Ratchet, I need you.”

In his post coital daze, Ratchet barely registered that all of this was so out of character for Optimus, and more so followed his spike over. He stood, hovering behind the Prime, at just the just the right height to be perfectly lined up. As if in disbelief, he smoothed his servos over Optimus’ aft, kneading it until his valve was soaked, then leaning over to follow his spine to his shoulder blades. 

Optimus looked back, offering an encouraging smile. “I am ready for you, Doctor.”

Ratchet dipped two digits inside of Optimus to test the stretch, and to hear him moan. Satisfied that he’d fit well, he smeared the Prime’s now-pink transfluid over his spike. He nudged the tip of himself into Optimus, engine revving from the mewling sounds coming out of Optimus. He was barely inside, and the Prime was already a mess, panting and moaning for more, trying to arch his hips and lean back. Ratchet chuckled and held him steady as he carefully sheathed himself inside of Optimus’ greedy, clenching heat. 

Ratchet hissed between his dentae. “Optimus, mmm, you’re so tight.” He started to pull out. 

Faceplates burning blue, Optimus gasped, “I have not taken a…” Ratchet pushed back in. “—Nngh— partner since my transformation to Prime.”

Pausing, servos still rubbing Optimus’ aft, Ratchet let that sink in. “No one?”

“You are my first.” After a moment, he circled his hips. “P-please, move!”

Ratchet quickly obliged, gradually picking up the pace, but plateauing at a steady thrust. Part of him wanted to record the sounds Optimus was making, the desperate pleads for more, the gasps and unabashed moans. On the next pull, he put his all behind the thrust back in, and Optimus crumbled. His faceplates scraped the floor as he was pushed forward and back, taking it and weeping for more. 

Ratchet kept up the harsh snapping for as long as he could, and the heat coiling in his abdomen skyrocketed quickly. Optimus started to push into his thrusts, and the two moaned with abandon. 

Optimus’ valve started to clench down harder, pull longer, and he started to whine for Ratchet’s spike. “Mmmm, ah! Ratchet, please —I need you deeper, more!”

Ratchet thought that if he gave Optimus any more, he’d have his valve and half his leg, but it was his Prime, and all he wanted was to please him. So he yanked Optimus’ legs out from under him (earning a startled yelp) and wrapped them around his waist as he stood. It was an effort, but thrusting from there gave him just the right angle to hit Optimus’ ceiling node. 

Optimus burst into sparks, his hips jerking, legs trembling, as he cried Ratchet’s name and overloaded for another mech for the first time as Optimus Prime. His valve coated Ratchet in a fresh layer of transfluid as it cycled down, trying to pull him deeper. Ratchet, let it, barely able to move in the vice-like heat, other than jutting his hips forward. The relentless heat, and the sound of Optimus rebooting was more than enough to send Ratchet over the edge. The coil of heat in his abdomen exploded into his legs, and he thrust through his overload as Optimus milked him dry. 

Too tired to move, the medic and his Prime collapsed on the floor, Ratchet’s depressurized spike still comfortably inside of Optimus. They kissed as much as they could before Optimus fell asleep, helm resting on Ratchet’s chassis. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day after.

Ratchet knew better than to assume the previous night was a dream. The awkward, fleeting optic contact he had with Optimus throughout the day was testament to something, but it seemed more for the worse. When, finally, the children and their guardians left for the night, and the others retired to their rooms, Ratchet waited at his workbench. He would have worked on the broken groundbridge piece, had his processor not been filled with other thoughts. He fiddled with it here and there, but he gave up around four a.m.. 

On the way to his room, he walked slower when passed Optimus’ door. Ratchet hoped, on a whim, that the Prime would come out and they would talk, but he would never dream of forcing Optimus to talk, especially if he was avoiding him on purpose. 

As he rounded the corner, helm down, Ratchet ran face-first into another Bot. Of course, he thought, it had to be Optimus. Back to the sincere, steady mech, he peered down at Ratchet with bright optics. 

“Ratchet,” he said, and Ratchet couldn’t help but hear the cries and moans of his name from their previous encounter. “I was looking for you.”

Ratchet took a step back out of courtesy. “Was in my workshop. Like always.”

Optimus nodded, slow, meticulous. “I suppose I should have checked there first.”

Ratchet just hummed. It was common knowledge that he spent more time tinkering and fixing than resting, so what was Optimus saying? Was he stalling? 

After a moment of tense silence, Optimus asked, “May we talk, old friend?”

“‘Course, Optimus.”

In the hall, they risked being overheard, so the two retreated to the Prime’s room. Optimus sat on his berth, servos folded neatly in his lap, and Ratchet hovered in the corner. He was impressed that the room was so clean and pheromone free. 

“Last night,” Optimus started. “I must apologize.”

Ratchet’s spark sank. 

“I put you in an uncomfortable situation, one that should never have happened. I will admit that I agreed to try a new batch of highgrade Wheeljack created, and…” 

“You should’ve known better,” Ratchet grumbled, crossing his arms. “None of it was genuine, that right?”

Optimus stood, a cringe hidden in his optics. “No. I may have been intoxicated and manipulative, but the words I spoke were true. I promise you that, Ratchet.”

Torn, Ratchet stepped closer. “I don’t want just your array, Optimus. I want all of you, everything. I want you to trust me, to come to me when you need comfort, when you need reassurance. Whether or not you want that, I will always be here for you.” The room was silent, and Optimus’ piercing optics was just too much, so Ratchet turned to leave. A firm servo on his wrist stopped him. 

Optimus brushed a thumb over Ratchet’s hip. “I want that too, old friend.”

Ratchet grabbed ahold of Optimus’ collar and yanked him down for a sloppy, passionate kiss. When they parted, he rumbled, “ _ My _ Prime.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
